


Reluctant Poetry

by Crowsister



Series: Rough Draft Babbling of Daughters & Decisions [2]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-21 04:51:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3678240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowsister/pseuds/Crowsister
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malavai Quinn can't stop himself from waxing poetic during his off hours about his new superior officer. Early Chapter 2</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reluctant Poetry

**Author's Note:**

> Temporary title until I can come up with something better. The first in a possible series of drabbles between my Sith Marauder, Praxidice, and Malavai Quinn.

Everything about her was a song.

That is what his (purposefully _neglected_ ) poetic side told him in daydreams. He could make an organized list in alphabetical and chronological orders of how exactly his commanding officer was a collection of metaphorical and literal songs.

In all actuality, actually making that list (or many lists, if one counted the reordered versions) would be rather frivolous and a waste of time. Even if it was mandatory relaxation time, Captain Malavai Quinn should be able to come up with better ways to spend it than being the ever sappy Imperial Officer in his Lord's story. Those toys always ended up as tossed away toys. Toys could not benefit the Empire from the garbage.

Quinn sat in the barracks, a bit at a loss of what to do with himself. Darth Baras's apprentice and his current superior officer, Praxidice, had declared the day to be a day of rest after their success on Nar Shadda. She had asked the slave girl to go out with her on Nar Shadda to do some shopping. The action spoke of gentle wind chimes, more suited for a Jedi than a Sith. It was the first expedition since Balmorra where he was alone on the ship. And even then, Quinn could tell that he wasn't completely alone. The ship's droid, 2V-R8, was hovering around him. Quinn assumed the droid was making certain that he was following orders since the one thing Praxidice seemed to doubt his abilities in was relaxing.

No, the Sith apprentice had made it quite clear that she did not trust him to know how to relax. The one thing she knew not to trust was his relaxation abilities. She had made soft, teasing comments about it during private conversations. Her strange silver eyes were always reflecting some kind of concern, which was a tiny bit frightening. More so than typical Sith behavior, at any rate.

Always checking in on her modest crew (which consisted of him, the slave girl, and the droid), even when she was getting ready to meet the day. It had, admittedly, startled Quinn the first time she had greeted him in the morning in nothing but a pair of civilian slacks and an undershirt with her black hair messy with sleep. She looked nothing like a Sith, much less a commanding officer. Some part of him was expecting her to shift into the infamous Sith seduction techniques, a tango he had steeled himself against.

He was not expecting her, a _Sith_ , to ask what sort of breakfast rations he preferred and if he would like some morning caff. He had adjusted to her routine morning check-ups, even if he thought them to be so...personal. But he did enjoy the slight debate they had on the Great Hyperspace War and the tactics employed during it, even if she was distracted during it while she was braiding and pinning her hair.

The droid interrupted his reflection by tittering at him, "Sir, our Lord has sent back a crate for you. Would you like it in the storage room or in the barracks or in the medical bay or-"

"Here in the barracks is fine, 2V-R8," he interrupted, having learned his lesson in not letting the droid ramble for too long. The droid had some personality...malfunctions in which it was always certain someone was going to scrap it for some perceived mistake or another. Which didn't fit with how the current owner of the ship acted (had acted thus far, at any rate), thus his most recent theory was that the anxious malfunctions were spawned by the previous owner of the droid. Quinn rose from his bunk, a tiny bit gleeful he was no longer completely without a task. He could organize the contents, appraise them, and replace anything should the contents be replacements.

The droid placed the crate onto his bunk and left when Quinn dismissed him. Quinn opened the crate and blinked, surprised. Within the crate was a few Imperial history datapads, ones he had accidentally let slip that he could never get his hands on during a conversation in one of the many taxi rides that they had taken on Nar Shadda during the hunt for Lord Rathari. There were a few weapon modification modules for his blaster, a new vibroknife. Practical gifts along with the few personal ones. He arranged everything onto his bunk, as he turned everything over in a shell-shocked manner.

He found a datapad of classical Imperial poetry, hidden among a package of an energy blade bayonet and its maintenance kit. He used to own a copy of this collection before Balmorra, before the incident with Moff Broysc, but he had thrown it out in an attempt to focus his mind on becoming a better officer so that even men like the Moff could never knock him down again. Some of his favorite poetry was in this collection and it had been a source of inspiration during his teen years. He vowed not to let himself need more inspiration beyond the reward of service ever again.

The datapad had a note written on it, written in neat handwriting. " _I couldn't help myself from gifting you this collection of poetry. I apologize if poetry's too doltish for you. I enjoy our discussions immensely. I was hoping to introduce literary discussions into our subject matter. If you would rather we didn't discuss the finer points of Imperial poetry, I understand completely. Just leave the datapad in my room before Vette and I return and I will get the message. -Apprentice Praxidice_ "

Yes, most Sith were a demanding drum-line. Praxidice was much more of a steady and calm violin track. One that took turns to surprise him in what ways its melody shifted. She who asked her subordinates (including her own slave) their preferences. A Sith who used tactical mercy. And a Sith who gave gifts to her subordinates. Quinn was unsure how he felt about this.

He was a cocktail of uncertainty, fear, and hesitation. When it came to thinking about _her_ , at least.


End file.
